


A Worthy Opponent

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Comedy, First Meetings, M/M, Minor Violence, Modern Royalty, Royalty, Swordfighting, Treasonous Disrespect For Authority Figures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: Han Jisung's finally met his match.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 44
Kudos: 213





	A Worthy Opponent

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Hwang Hyunjin!

Hyunjin didn’t want anything to do with the emperor and their family. 

That was a very hard thing to think and feel when the family was so thoroughly a part of daily life.

They were always in commercials. One child or another was on a talk show or making a guest appearance on a reality show. Their likenesses were constantly being used in cartoons or on political satire shows or by makeup YouTubers gunning for more views (“I Do My Friend’s Makeup To Make Them Look Like _____!”) The royal family’s fake, smiling faces were on school textbooks and painted on buses or plastered on banner ads in the subway, reminding all citizens of the empire who it was that protected them and ‘kept the people blooming like flowers.’

Ugh.

Hyunjin was no flower.

If anything, he was a patch of prickly briars that made everyone who drew close to him bleed.

The haughty-nosed emperor, his two wives and eight children.

Hyunjin didn’t want anything to do with them at all.

But because Hwang Hyunjin was of able body and (thanks to his last birthday) of illegible age, someone from his family had to participate in the draft and he would rather do _anything_ than make Yeji be the one who served the royals hand and foot.

The draft happened every year on the first day of spring. 

Such a date was supposed to be symbolic or something, Hyunjin had been taught, but even as a child, he found it ironic that the season in which he was born was not only the season that represented new life and fresh beginnings, it was also the season that represented the emperor’s unending bloodlust and yet another of his mad grasps for power. 

His empire already stretched from one end of the continent to the other and even across two seas. His army was already massive. His rule was ironclad and his authority was unquestioned.

So why did he publicly announce each spring that he was increasing the size of his army _again_?

Hyunjin scoffed as he answered his own question. Perhaps the showmanship of it all was the point. Neighboring countries were less likely to resist if it was internationally broadcasted that the empire’s army was increasing by another few thousand in size.

No matter the reason, Hyunjin didn’t want to participate. He didn’t want to be the emperor’s lap dog.

So his plan was to wait his turn in line, purposefully fail the draft and even flub the written test and spoken interview in order to keep the Hwangs off of the recruitment list for at least another two years.

Chansung had already succumbed. Hyunjin wouldn’t give the emperor another.

“Next,” shouted the training master, snapping Hyunjin out of his thoughts. The black-haired man had introduced himself as Captain Seo Changbin and, despite his lack of height, he was the leader of the emperor’s personal bodyguard detail and he was adept at every weapon in the empire’s arsenal. “I said next!”

The man immediately in front of Hyunjin cowered at the volume of Changbin’s voice before stumbling forward on squeaky boots.

It was easy to get nervous.

The marble-walled room they were in was extravagant and ornate and gaudy. It was nicknamed the Versailles of the 21st Century thanks to its beautiful manicured gardens on the exterior and its opulent and gold _everything_ on the interior. It was a place built with the kind of serious money that could have possibly funded all manner of necessary projects like highway infrastructure or renewed agriculture efforts or even cancelling student debt but instead that money had been sunk into a grand building that was only used once a year.

The draft was televised. Streamed digitally. Everyone in the empire watched as army hopefuls tried and (more than likely) failed Changbin’s strict testing. But some people did pass, and if the audience didn't tune in for the one-on-one duels, they tuned in for the tours of the palace and the fashions of the guards.

It was a big event. It only happened once a year, after all. The kind of opportunity that could pull a pauper out of poverty or throw a well-to-do to the bottom of the social ladder. Everything hinged on how one performed in the draft.

“Do you want to make a bet,” the young man standing behind Hyunjin asked.

Hyunjin vaguely recalled the man’s name as Kim Seungmin. The youngest of the Kim family. He had dressed to impress, fitting nice and snug in black dress pants and a white button down, wrapped up in a trench coat cinched tight at the waist. He was a confident kid, having brought his own sword from home as if that would give him an advantage in the sparring match. Hyunjin lowered his voice so his words wouldn’t carry, “What kind of bet?”

He expected something benign like how many seconds the other guy would last in a match against Changbin but, instead, Seungmin whispered, “Which of the sisters will want to bed the guy? My money’s on the lady in the middle.”

Despite himself, Hyunjin let his eyes wander to the right side of the room where the emperor himself sat, surrounded by his family.

The emperor was an intimidating-looking man onscreen and in paintings but he was even more fearsome-looking in person. He was tall, strong-jawed and steely-eyed with eyebrows that were always slanted downward and with a beard that nearly reached his chest. He was about fifty in age and his hair was just starting to gray at his temples but he still possessed a muscled body that could skillfully swing a sword and fire a gun and wrestle a man down to the mat.

The emperor’s three daughters sat at the far left end of the row of chairs, in dresses of significantly different cuts and styles and lengths but all in matching marigold color. Hyunjin glanced over their faces before he said, “The one on the right.”

“Deal,” Seungmin mumbled from behind him. “Loser foots the bill at the upstairs bar.” That obnoxious, overpriced place. It probably only stayed in business because it offered such grand views of the palace and, every now and then, a glimpse of one of the royal family members.

“What is your name,” Changbin bellowed. He had a shockingly deep, booming voice.

Hyunjin jerked his eyes away from the royal family and stared hard at the reason he was here.

“My name is Minho, sir,” said the nervous, jumpy boy now standing in the center of the room. Although he wore a decently-tailored suit, he may as well have been in rags, that's how hunched over he looked. The man dipped his head respectfully towards the training master and then turned and bowed more deeply to the family. When he stood up straight, he handed his draft card to Changbin. “Youngest son of the Lee family. This is my third year attempting to pass.”

Changbin hardly glanced over the small card as he scanned it through some machine at his hip before handing it back to Minho. “Alright, then. Pick a weapon and show me what you can do with it.” He waved a hand towards the table off to the side.

Minho deliberated over the selection of blades and chakram and iron fans and metal claws and spears long enough for Changbin to grow impatient and clear his throat. Minho panicked and grabbed an embarrassingly short knife in his haste. “I’m ready,” he announced, his voice shaky. He left the table and returned to the center of the room, standing in front of Changbin.

He was a decent-looking guy, this Minho, Hyunjin figured. He had a good nose and a cat-like slant to his eyes and a sinfully pink mouth but was he decent-looking enough to sleep with royalty?

“Let us begin.” The training master breathed in and out heavily enough that Hyunjin could notice the bulge of his pectoral muscles beneath the padded shirt he wore. “Take the first swing,” said Changbin, folding his arms behind his back as if he didn’t need to draw his weapon. As if he didn't need a weapon at all.

So Minho took the first swing. Or tried to. Changbin spun out of the way long before Minho’s blade reached his uniform. “Again,” he shouted. “Faster. Put more power behind it. Like your life depends on it. You fight to protect the emperor, not your favorite toy.”

Minho rushed at him again. Missed again.

"Is that the best you have to offer," Changbin bellowed. That was definitely something Hyunjin had heard the man shout countless times while waiting in line.

Minho yelled some kind of war cry and rushed Changbin down.

The Captain only had to duck sideways to avoid it. He didn't even have to lift a boot off the floor. “Again,” Changbin angrily screamed, kicking Minho in the shin.

Minho tightened his grip on his weapon and ran at the man. He thrust forward with the blade, aiming for the center of Changbin's chest.

Changbin sort of stepped sideways and then hopped. It was an odd movement but he succeeded in kneeing Minho in the stomach and sending the man in a heap to the polished stone floor.

Hyunjin heard delighted giggles and looked back towards the royal family just in time to see the sister seated in the middle raise a gloved hand in front of her smiling mouth.

Behind him, Seungmin elbowed him hard.

Changbin said, “One more!” And impatiently tapped his foot as he waited for Minho to drag himself to his feet. 

In a fit of anger, Minho threw the knife. Oddly enough, it was his most successful attack yet. Changbin barely managed to duck beneath it before it sailed over his head and landed on the floor with a clatter. Changbin did not let up. He rushed forward and bodily tackled Minho. 

The poor boy would have been thrown to the floor if Changbin didn’t turn and grab a fistful of the guy’s shirt, keeping him from hitting the ground.

With surprising gentleness, Changbin hoisted him back up onto his feet and steered Minho towards the double doors on the other side of the room. He didn’t even wait for Minho to get more than three steps away before he was aiming his cold, hard gaze in Hyunjin’s direction and shouting, “Next!”

Perhaps it was because Hyunjin was already keeping his senses tuned for the sound but he heard more giggles from the emperor’s daughters. It was the sister seated to the right who leaned out of her chair and whispered something to her mother who, in turn, whispered something to her husband.

The emperor made a gesture to one of the black-clad bodyguards standing behind his chair and the tall, muscular woman subtly backed away, skirting around the edges of the room to make a beeline towards Minho who still shuffled towards the exit doors.

Hyunjin glanced over his shoulder at Seungmin and smirked.

Seungmin only bared his teeth in a forced act of aggression.

Changbin bellowed, “I said ne-”

“I’m coming,” Hyunjin cut him off. “I heard you.” He proceeded to step across the white stone floor, polished almost to a mirror shine and reflecting the dazzling glow of all of the chandeliers and wall sconces. He could also see himself in the mirror-like surface: narrow chin and long nose and pretty, dark lashes. In a room full of people wearing their designer best, he wore a white t-shirt and distressed jeans.

Changbin narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his nose. “You will show me respect,” he growled but at least he said it without shouting.

“You’re not my Captain yet,” Hyunjin replied.

“I’ll fail you right here,” Changbin threatened.

“I would love it if you did,” said Hyunjin. "In fact, I absolutely need you to." He presented his draft registration card. “Hwang Hyunjin,” he announced himself. “Middle child of the Hwangs.”

When Changbin reached for the card, Hyunjin spun it around his own fingers, keeping it away from the Captain’s grasp.

Changbin made an irritated noise in the back of his throat, sort of like an animal growl, before snatching the card out of Hyunjin’s hand. Hyunjin smiled, pleased with himself. Well on his way to failing the draft and going back to living a normal life. Out in the country. Far from the royal family's impact. While Changbin swiped his card, Hyunjin spent the seconds of downtime gazing back towards the emperor and the exquisite navy suit he wore. The gleaming gold buttons shimmered in the chandelier light and the pattern of dragons sewn along the lining seemed to fiercely sparkle. The suit probably cost more than the Hwang family’s entire estate. And then some.

Both of the emperor’s wives sat in gilded chairs on either side of the emperor. The one on the left in a smooth, form-fitting sky blue dress. Last season’s Givenchy. The one on the right wore a ruffled floor-length ball gown with a diamond-encrusted bodice, the tulle fabric an ombre of smoky oranges and yellows and pinks like the sun at sunset. A custom-fit dress made specifically for today’s draft.

It was obvious who the favored wife was.

Hyunjin let his eyes travel over the emperor’s children. The three daughters. The five sons. The two youngest boys were barely ten years old and both of them stared at the smartphones in their hands, tapping away at the screen with bored, flat expressions. Then there were the twins in their matching floral-patterned Gucci suits, both of them more interested in posing for the swarm of reporters with their cameras than in paying attention to the festivities.

The only child, hell, the only member of the royal family who seemed even remotely interested in the proceedings was Han Jisung. The oldest son.

Hyunjin realized Jisung was staring at him, watching him, and he rolled his eyes in displeasure before fixing his gaze back on Changbin, just as the Captain was handing him back his draft card.

“Show the arena respect,” said Changbin.

He was supposed to bow but Hyunjin remained standing upright.

Changbin excused the slight to his own standing. “Now bow to the emperor.”

Hyunjin looked over towards the royal family. Towards the emperor who wasn’t even paying the proceedings any mind, whispering to one of his wives. Hyunjin’s eyes darted down the row towards Jisung. The young man still watched him intently, though now he had propped his elbow up on the chair’s armrest and placed his chin on his upturned palm.

Still without bowing, Hyunjin looked back at Changbin.

Oooh, the irritation on the man’s face was _palpable_. “Pick a weapon,” the Captain said. It was so obvious he was ready to get Hyunjin out of his sight. 

Hyunjin wanted to keep pestering him, just a little bit longer, just to make him really squirm. “Why don’t _you_ pick a weapon,” he boldly asked.

Changbin had his arms behind his back, showing off to the world that he could fight while unarmed. “I don’t need one,” he said. “I’m here to evaluate not eviscerate.”

Hyunjin blindly grabbed a weapon and threw it to Changbin. A short sword with a sleek, shiny hilt.

The Captain only had two options: step out of the way and watch the expensive blade bounce on the hard flooring or break his own pompous posture, pull a hand from behind his back and catch the weapon.

He did the latter.

Just that alone had whispers and gasps rolling like a wave through the people waiting in line behind Hyunjin.

“There you go,” said Hyunjin. He grabbed a sword of his own. A rapier with a golden handguard. “Now it’ll be fair.”

Changbin attempted to bite back a laugh. Failed. Barked out a loud, sharp ‘ha.’

It must have been something he rarely did because Hyunjin could _feel_ the two of them become the center of attention as the reporters swung their cameras towards them, as the emperor sat up in his velvet-backed chair to watch. As Han Jisung crossed one leg over the other at the knee and smirked.

“These are never fair,” said Changbin. “You do what you can. I evaluate. You pass or fail. Simple as that.” 

“You done yacking yet?” Hyunjin asked. “When do we start?”

“Now,” said Changbin. He was at the absolute end of his patience.

Hyunjin surprised everyone in the room by saying, “Take the first swing.”

Changbin’s face went red with murky anger. “You’re in front of the emperor. Show some respect.”

The next words out of Hyunjin’s mouth were either extremely brave or extremely stupid. “Are you scared?”

Changbin abandoned all decorum and tradition. He lunged forward at lightning speed, moving with the precision and grace of a man who had legitimately trained his whole life for this.

Hyunjin raised his rapier, twisted his wrist to the right and easily parried the strike. 

The room was dead silent. 

Even the rapid-fire _clickclickclick_ of the photographers’ camera shutters had abruptly halted.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow at Changbin, taking sweet pleasure in the stupefied look on the man’s face. “Again,” he shouted, mocking Changbin’s gravelly tone.

Changbin swung again, alright. In a horizontal slash absolutely meant to decapitate.

Hyunjin almost didn’t duck out of the way in time and he watched in surprise and horror as a cascade of his own black hair fluttered to the floor like raven feathers. What a way to remember that these blades were _real_. Gosh, how much did Changbin get in that swipe? Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair and hoped it was nothing his barber couldn’t fix.

Changbin let out an angry yell and swung a third time. A fourth time. 

Dancing into motion, Hyunjin raised his sword to parry one blow and then block the second. Sparks flew as metal crashed against metal. The noise of the impact reverberated around the room like someone had just struck a church bell. Hyunjin shoved with all of his might, breaking the deadlock and sending Changbin back a single step. “Next,” he hollered.

There was no way the Captain would take kindly to that. He gripped the sword with both hands, his eyes so cold they practically blazed. 

“Get ready. I’m going to attack you from the left.” Hyunjin lunged forward, bounding from one foot to the other. He feigned a thrust, forcing Changbin to waste time lifting his sword to block. Hyunjin danced to the side and thrust the rapier again, snagging a hole in Changbin’s padded shirt. Hyunjin watched the ribbons of ripped cotton and kevlar float to the floor. “Ooops. Your left. Not my left.”

Changbin fumed. “How dare you show such disrespect. I’ll--”

“Enough!”

The low, thundering voice belonged to the emperor himself. 

Changbin was so stunned that he dropped his sword and folded his body at the waist in a bow. “My apologies, my liege. I lost my temper. How shameful of me. I will accept any punishment--”

The emperor held up a hand and Changbin went obediently quiet.

It was so still in the hall that you could hear a pin drop. Well, you could hear that and Seungmin’s ridiculous, not-subtle-at-all stage whisper of, “You’re going to bring dishonor on your family. Dishonor on your cow.”

It was what Hyunjin wanted, honestly. What honor did the Hwangs still have left? Their business was failing. Foreclosure threatened their estate. Chansung had been recruited into the army nearly six years ago and was still a low-ranking soldier. Yeji, the dear girl, had a bit of a sadistic streak that deserved no place on a battlefield or in the science lab where she spent her days. If Hyunjin could act a fool enough to be shunned by the emperor, that would be so much better than having his family crushed in the royal family’s iron fist.

“Young man,” said the emperor. He hardly had to raise his voice, the room was so quiet. “Your reflexes are top-notch and your speed is quite uncanny. Although it is clear you are self-taught, with the proper training and discipline, you can become a member of my-- of _our_ embroidered guard.” It wasn’t necessary for him to do so but he waved his hand in the direction of the bodyguards stationed all around the seated royal family. 

Hyunjin looked at their large aviator shades and tailored designer suits and diamond-studded watches and recoiled. “I’m going to have to pass on that.”

Gasps. Whispers. Camera shutters.

The room rumbled, almost shook, with brand new noise.

The emperor didn’t seem fazed. In a slightly louder voice, he continued, “I will train you myself.”

“Sir!” This was Changbin, beseeching. “You need not trouble yourself with such a lowlife.”

“A lowlife,” said the emperor, “who stood his ground against my best?” He stood up from his chair. A move that made everyone in the room dip their heads respectfully.

Hyunjin looked the man dead in the eye. He would not become a puppet. He would not become a dog.

“Your family can move into the palace while you train. I’ll gift you anything of your choosing.”

Hyunjin found the closest video camera and stared straight into the lens, knowing his face was being broadcast for the entire empire to see. “I’m going to have to say no.” He gave the audience at home a wink and a finger gun.

Snickers. Tongue clicks of disapproval. Murmurs of frustration. Hyunjin heard them all as the room became alive with noise again.

The emperor raised his hand. It took mere seconds for silence to come back over the crowd. The emperor stepped towards the arena, the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the tile. “Would you feel better if you started as a mere private and worked your way up?”

“I’d feel better not being part of your army at all,” said Hyunjin, flicking his hair out of his face with a jerk of his head.

Changbin reached for Hyunjin’s shirt. “I’ll throw you out.”

Hyunjin side-stepped the Captain’s hand. "You should have did that at the beginning."

“If you don’t want to be the emperor’s man,” said Han Jisung, leaning back in his chair with a salacious grin, “why don’t you belong to the emperor’s first son instead? If my father can’t teach you discipline--” He licked his lips. “--I certainly will.”

Hyunjin tightened his grip on the rapier in his hands and ran for the line of chairs.

He was moving so quickly that no one really caught on to what he was doing until Changbin shouted, “Guards!”

The bodyguards snapped to attention though perhaps a second too late.

Hyunjin ducked beneath their swinging fists and extended arms. He leaped over their kicking legs and thrusting knees.

The emperor was right in front of him, the man's eyes wide with surprise, his mouth tight with apprehension. Hyunjin ducked around him, coming close enough to feel the luxurious glide of the navy suit's fabric on his arm. As he passed, he stuck his tongue out at the man.

The emperor wasn't his target. His first son was.

Hyunjin ran right up to Jisung’s chair and thrust his rapier forward. Faster than a flash of lightning and just as dangerous.

The tip of the sword tore into the velvet back of the chair and spilled white stuffing across the broad left shoulder of Jisung’s designer suit. Classic, pinstriped Dolce&Gabbana.

Jisung remained seated in his chair, his face calm, his deep brown eyes meeting Hyunjin’s. His hair was plastered to his forehead with a sudden onset of nervous sweat but only Hyunjin was close enough to him to see. When he swallowed the spit in his mouth, his throat pressed against the flat of Hyunjin’s blade.

Just a hair’s width to the left and the son of the emperor would have been ran through. Right on national television.

Hyunjin heard the heavy, pounding footsteps of the swarm of bodyguards right behind him. In less than a breath, they’d have him beat over the head. They'd have him pinned to the floor. They’d have him handcuffed and tossed in prison for treason. He'd be executed. They’d have his _head_.

But all Hyunjin could do was grin.

Jisung raised a hand.

Hyunjin could _feel_ more than see the bodyguards come to a halt right behind him. He said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “If you want me, you better put a ring on it.” He raised his left hand and held his middle finger up in Jisung’s face. Then he shrugged, said “Oops,” and extended his ring finger instead.

If anything, Jisung looked all the more amused with him. All the more… delighted. He smiled and a bit of color shot to the surface of his round cheeks. He was a little bit handsome when his smile was genuine and not that shit-eating smirk he'd plastered on earlier. “I’ll have a ring delivered to you first thing in the morning.”

A marriage proposal. Right in front of everyone. Live on air. Broadcast for the world to see.

Jisung’s confident grin and cocked eyebrow stirred something up in Hyunjin’s chest. Apprehension, maybe? Or perhaps excitement? He hadn’t realized the emperor’s son was even leaning that close towards him until he noticed how close their mouths were.

Nope. Nope. Definitely not!

Hyunjin stood up straight, putting much needed distance between their faces.

He would not be won over so easily. Where were the roses? The candles? The _romance_ ? Not that he would change his answer, even if there was any. “And I’ll be sure to have that ring sent right back to you, first son.” He took a step back. “Tip your waitress.” Hyunjin let go of the rapier with a touch of force and the narrow, thin sword wobbled back and forth, back and forth, back and forth where it was lodged into the chair with an almost comical _thwangangangang_ sound.

Hyunjin turned around, his heart hammering away at his chest. He wanted to keel over from the nerves but he kept his head held high.

He brushed past the bodyguards. So close to some of them that he could see his reflection in their aviator shades, looking just about as crazed as he felt on the inside. He was close enough to them that he could see the details of the golden embroidery on their suits that gave the elite their name. Some of the bodyguards, he noticed, still had their handguns trained on his skull.

Jisung said, like a thought spoken aloud, "I’m never going to meet anybody else like you, am I?”

Hyunjin looked over his shoulder at the man. Could practically see the hearts floating around in his irises. He scoffed, “Honey, there’s _no one_ else like me.” And he meant it.

That made Jisung laugh. Made him lean forward and prop his elbows on his knees. “You’re actually going to make me try.”

Hyunjin turned back around and continued his trek across the floor. He was so painfully aware of the almost electric gaze of every single person and camera lens in the room. He wanted to melt through the floor. He wanted to disintegrate. But the only way out was past all of the other draft hopefuls and out the door he came in.

“I’m going to try,” Jisung yelled at his back. “Dammit, I am going to _try_.”

“You’re welcome to,” said Hyunjin, surprised that his voice did not split in half from nerves. “Doesn’t mean you’ll win, first son.”

Hyunjin slung an arm over Seungmin’s shoulders and pulled the man out of the draft line and towards the double doors, ignoring everyone else’s open-mouthed expressions of awe or shame or disgust. 

“Come now, Seungmin,” Hyunjin said. “We’re going to the upstairs bar. Losers pay, remember?”

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/TheSwingbyJHF)


End file.
